


what remains

by museaway



Series: The Flock [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 11:19:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4177830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/museaway/pseuds/museaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas is waiting outside the bunker.</p><p>(Dean/Cas coda for The Flock)</p>
            </blockquote>





	what remains

**Author's Note:**

> The Flock was gen but hinted at an unrealized relationship between Dean and Cas that I wanted to write down. So I did.

Cas is waiting outside the bunker when they roll into Lebanon a little before four. His Continental, dusty from its cross-country trip, idles just outside the entrance to the garage. He raises a hand to wave at them. Dean is road-weary and atypically subdued, but brightens when he sees him. He lifts the fingers of his right hand from the wheel and waves back.

Sam gets out to open the garage door, instructing Cas to pull into any open space. He shoots Sam a thumbs-up and shifts into drive. Dean’s right behind him, guiding the Impala inside and into her usual space. Sam closes the door, and closes the last two days behind them.

Dean already has their bag out of the trunk and slung over his shoulder. He won’t let Cas carry it, scowling at his repeated offers while they schlep from the garage to the war room, where Dean drops the bag before heading for the kitchen.

“A-frigging-men,” he mutters, opening a beer that he tosses to Sam, then gets on for himself. He holds a third out to Cas, who shakes his head, though he loosens his tie.

“Don’t know about you two, but I could eat a horse,” Dean says with his beer in one hand and the freezer handle in the other. It’s barren but for a few frozen burritos, the individual pizzas Dean insists don’t taste like cardboard. He pulls out the box and puts the lot of them into the oven, straight on the rack, and turns on the heat.

“I believe you’re supposed to preheat the oven,” Cas offers with a glance at the box, squinting at the instructions. Dean shrugs but doesn’t meet his eye.

There’s always been tension between them. Sam’s been aware of it almost since they met, fascinated by Castiel’s ability to ruffle his brother. He brushed it off as a rivalry at first. There weren’t many people who could match Dean for stubbornness, and Cas had no particular affinity for humanity—not back then. But he observed their evolution, nursed Dean through his depression after Cas’s betrayal; sat up with him when he woke from nightmares a year later, positive Cas had been outside his window. He never told Dean that he saw him fit his hand to a phantom impression on the glass before they checked out the following morning. He knows it nearly killed Dean to order Cas out of the bunker last year, and that Dean only did that for Sam.

Cas stares at Dean from across the kitchen. Dean stares at a spot on the floor and sniffs and drinks his beer. He’s covered in dried mud and reeks of smoke from a fire Sam never saw. The oven beeps as its temperature rises, and since the food won’t be ready for at least fifteen minutes, Sam excuses himself for a shower to give them space.

He puts his jeans and shirt in the sink to soak, but his boots are a mess. He leaves them on the bathroom floor, too tired to deal with them right now. He needs a hot shower and a good night’s sleep in a bed, not a dilapidated floor on a pile of refuse.

He washes off the filth that house left on him, working a palmful of shampoo into his hair and rinsing until the water runs clear. The water fills his ears and blocks out the world: the patter of water on the shower floor, squeal of the pipes. The water pounds his back, chasing the echoes of the birds that shriek and dive toward him when his eyes are closed. He forces them open, even though the water burns when it runs into them. He keeps them open and lathers his body with soap and reminds himself it wasn’t real, not entirely.

He finds a brush and cleans under his nails, scrubbing until his fingertips are red and his nail beds are free of dirt, then shuts off the water. He towels dry and goes to his room for clean clothes. Dressed in sweats and a loose-fitting tee, he returns to the kitchen, mouth watering at the scent of garlic and tomato—greasy or not, he’s starving. But he stops in the entry to the kitchen and doesn’t go down the stairs, because Castiel is cradling Dean against his chest.

Dean, arms looped around Cas’s waist, convulses in quiet sobs. His face is turned into Cas’s neck, and Cas’s eyes are closed. He speaks to Dean in hushed tones. Sam can’t make out the words, but from the way Cas gently strokes a hand over Dean’s hair, he knows they’re words of comfort—comfort he wasn’t able to give Dean that Cas kisses along his forehead.

Sam grins against his fist, embarrassed that he almost interrupted what’s certainly a first for them, and gets the keys. He fights his exhaustion long enough to pick up a few groceries—loaf of bread and some peanut butter, a carton of eggs, salad mix, package of chicken breasts. He buys a six-pack of soap and a toothbrush for Cas, and goes home.

They’re seated at the table—Cas down to his dress shirt, Dean with damp hair and dressed in pajama pants. He’s housing pizza, chasing every other bite with beer.

“You look better,” Sam comments, but Dean just shrugs. Sam grins at Cas as he passes them to put the eggs and salad in the fridge. He makes himself a peanut butter sandwich and joins them at the table.

“Dean said you encountered a trickster,” Cas says, turning toward him. His left hand is beneath the table, presumably resting on Dean’s leg. It makes Sam smile, knowing Dean’s allowing that.

“Yeah,” he says, eating a quarter of the sandwich in one bite. He used too much peanut butter, but he’s so hungry he doesn’t care. He nods to let Cas know he’s going to continue and forces it down. “It manifested whatever we were thinking, separated us. Took a while to figure out.”

“I’m glad you’re all right,” Cas says.

Sam nods in agreement and eats another bite.

“Oh, hey,” he says when he stops for a sip of water. “I got you a toothbrush. It’s in the bag on the counter.”

Dean lifts his eyes, bright and glossy with unshed tears. They fall when he smiles. Sam smiles back.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to [Tumblr](http://www.museaway.com/post/121151746470/the-flock-coda)


End file.
